


Hope is a Verb

by Bliss_Smith



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Idek if this is headcanon or just a knife to stick in my chest, Pregnancy, prompted, yet one more scene that wouldn't leave me alone to write porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-07-04 16:59:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15845517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bliss_Smith/pseuds/Bliss_Smith
Summary: Timeline roughly 9:43 Dragon. Post Trespasser.Ok, so I don't often work off prompts, but one from the DA Prompt Exchange on Tumblr got stuck in my head. The prompt is supposed to be Alistair as silly happy daddy-to-be. I tried to write that, really I did, but this is the story that wanted told. At least it's not tragic.Headcanon territory, that Fiona and Dorian Pavus find a cure for the taint. Which I don't think is much of a stretch, but I'll not argue if someone else thinks it is.





	Hope is a Verb

She’s not trying to hide it. She’s just scared witless to even think about it and it’s all too easy to tell herself he won’t notice. But he knows her body as well as he knows his own, years of studying it giving him all the information he needs.

“You’ve not been bleeding like you should. Once right after you came back and nothing since.”

He says it casually, like it’s no big deal, merely a distracted thought while he’s propped up on an elbow and watching her in the early morning light. She wants to say something, blow it off, blow it away, where she doesn’t have to think about it anymore, but she can’t bring herself to open her mouth. She’s not sure what will come out if she does. Her stomach is rocking like a signpost in the wind. She’d give anything to believe it was just from nerves.

He watches her carefully, eyes sharp in a way people always seem to forget he has. He strokes her cheek softly before letting his hand wander down to the slope of her breast. She tries not to wince at the touch, not let him see how tender they are.

“Your breasts are getting bigger, too. Fuller.”

He’s trying to keep his voice neutral, and she’s trying to keep her fears at bay. Neither is having much luck.  

The last time this happened she almost bled to death in the middle of a Landsmeet. She would give almost anything to forget standing up in the middle of the meet to excuse herself, knowing something was wrong but not what, the look on Alistair’s face when he noticed the blood on the floor between her feet.

That was a long time ago, she tries to reassure herself. Back when ignorant healers were lying about what they were giving her in the hopes of forcing her tainted body to produce an heir for the throne. Back before Fiona and Dorian Pavus found a cure for the taint. Back before her husband cut his wrist open to feed her some of his dragon blood.

The only thing left to worry about is her mother’s history of difficult pregnancies, and that’s more than enough. She’d like to not think about it until she is forced to, either by pain or delight. Her body will do what it’s going to do, and the more she thinks about it the more stressed she’ll get.

But look at his eyes, the soft gold determination that’s the most perfect counterpoint to her hard blue, the love and hope that shine like stars. A memory floats past and she has to grab at it, it’s so old, one she’s not thought of in too many years, of the days she misses most. The cabin they turned into a chapel, the way the love in his eyes promised forever, that he would find a way to give her every dream she could have.

He has, too. A kingdom laid at her feet and a lifetime of love, the history books and the fairy tales. He’s given her everything he has, everything he is, and to ask for anything more feels like the most shameful of greed, the truest of sins.

_Oh,_ _but what if_ … 

She knows she doesn’t have to say anything; he’s read every thought in her head as she had it. He knows, as only he can, but she knows she owes him the words.

“I’m so scared,” she whispers. It’s not what she planned to say, but isn’t that her way?

“Just relax in my arms, love. I’ll carry you through this.”

~*~

She’s not quite comfortable lying on the grass, but she can’t make herself get up. This is where she needs to be. Where she needs him to find her. How many nights did they spend lying in the grass next to each other that first year, learning about life and love? Finding the strength and the reason to keep moving, even when they were so scared they could hardly breathe. They had no idea what they were doing other than trying their best and hoping it would be enough. That it was gives her a sliver of hope that their best might be good enough this time as well.

She’s trying to not think while simultaneously thinking of how to tell him. Neither has worked. She stares up at the stars and tries to deny how truly calm she feels. Peace and complacency terrify her now, as she expects them to immediately lead to heartbreak, a river of blood running down her thighs to pool at her feet. She’s scared to think she has any right to this, not after so many blessings life has given her.

And none of that can stand up to what’s happening beneath the hand on her abdomen, to the sense of utter peace it brings her.

She starts crying when she hears his steps. It isn’t a big deal, she cries so incredibly easy these days, but she still tries to stop it, not wanting to worry him. Just being out here tells him something is going on.

Instead of speaking, she holds her hand out, inviting him to come to her. She waits until he settles in before taking his hand. She kisses the palm first, then lays it on her belly where hers had been. When he starts to ask, she leans up and gives him a quick kiss and the barest  _shh._  There’s no way to tell him, not really. Letting him discover it on his own is all she can do.

It takes a few minutes. She’s about ready to give up when it comes again, the flutter-flicker roll directly beneath his hand.

It’s her turn to watch him, waiting for it to fall on him like it did her. His eyebrows twitch but he doesn’t seem to get it, not until he feels the next roll. It’s harder, insistent, unmistakable, and his indrawn breath is one of the best sounds ever.

She wants to tell him to stay quiet, say not one word that could jinx them, but she can’t make herself do it. This is the first time they’ve gotten this far; she’ll not steal the gift of it from him to soothe her fears.

He looks between her stomach and face, eyes wide with such wonder and joy she can only smile as it lifts her heart. Heartbreak and misery might be on the way, but she’s tired of buying trouble. What comes, comes. Right now, she is with her beloved and they are saying hello to their child for the first time. She’ll not diminish that in favor of fear.

She nudges his hand over, just a little, so she can place hers next to his. She thinks they’ll start crying, or laughing, either one a fair bet. Instead they hold each other tighter and watch the stars shoot overhead, enough to make a wish for every ripple that spreads out beneath their hands.


End file.
